My recent shocking forced experiment in being a tart at the behest of two crazed tarts was meant as a lesson for me – cheeky twats.
Their ‘game‘ illustrates their crass ingratitude – I don’t spank them regularly just for the fun of it: I do it for their own good.
I have to go out of my way to find the time & energy to dole out spankings. I’ve got plenty of other stuff to be getting on with: penning poetry, writing a script for Netflix (Ooops) and plotting to take over the world with my cohorts of madness: to name but three.
They should be over-the-moon they have me to thrash them for any daft reason I come up with.
On a wider scale: the only reason I ‘advertise‘ my spanking services is to enable ladies to get the punishment they so sorely need. Without me, how on earth will they get the sore bottoms they’ve so richly earned through acts of naughtiness – both real and those fabricated by me.
No FEMALE arse is unspankable to me. (Yes that does mean yours)
My services and willingness to meet naughty girls from all four comers of this planet illustrates my dedication to the task in hand.
The more I think of it, the more I earnestly believe I should be recognised for my contribution to the whole known world, spanking those who’s naughtiness demands it. As well as catering for those who’ve done fuck all.
However, I am humble enough to accept I may not be lauded for all my hard work and have come to think the empty plinth at Nelson’s Column may never house a permanent bronze statue of me. Probably.
I shall soldier on, alone, spanking any tart who wants or needs that very thing.
I’m welling up: I am simply wonderful – am I not?
Note: Ingratitude is punishable by, guess what? Yes, a spanking.